Recovering the Satellites
by brightblue
Summary: Grace thought she was following the plan life had for her. But now, nearly ten years later, she's still trying to deal with her choice. (L&G fic) UPDATED, January 16th!
1. So Much Rejection

Title: Recovering the Satellites

Author: brightblue

Category: G/L future fic, with some A/J, but minimal. Grace POV.

Rating: PG-13 (Nothing you wouldn't see on the show, probably, but written out it's always a wee bit worse. People don't always have censored thoughts, after all!)

Spoilers: General spoilers for the second season (as of now, up to Dive).

Archive: Ask first, please.

Summary: Grace thought she was following the plan life had for her. But now, nearly ten years later, she's still trying to deal with her choice.

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. Characters, etc. property of Barbara Hall and CBS and others. Lyrics that precede each chapter written by the genius that is Adam Duritz, not me.

Author's Notes: So, the last thing I need to be doing right now is starting a long WiP. Yet, this story continues to be written. I have it all outlined and have some free time the next few weeks, so I shall do my best! This fic is perhaps an uninspired, cliched idea, but I had to do my take on it. It is largely inspiried by the Counting Crows album _Recovering the Satellites_, from which I will steal lyrics that fit the mood and theme of each chapter (and obviously stole the title). I recommend that CD as a soundtrack for this story. (Though, the "acoustic" versions of some of the songs as found on the VH1 Storytellers disc of the _Across A Wire_ double CD fit the overall tone better, musically--especially the acoustic version of Catapult.) Okay, enough with the plugging of my fave band-- onward to the story! Enjoy!

_I wanna be the light that burns out your eyes  
'Cause I know there's little things about me  
That would sing in the silence of so much rejection  
In every connection I make  
I can't find nobody home  
_(Catapult)_  
_

**June 24, 2006**

Grace Polk stood at her boyfriend's front door and gathered her courage.

Strength of will was something she'd always prided herself on, her inability to back down from anything of importance. Stick it to the man, deny social convention—those were the mottos she liked to live by. And then there was Luke Girardi. Her weakness, her contradiction to everything else she believed in. Around him she became someone else, a little softer around the edges and sometimes, most times, even happy. He had saved her life. Breathed air into her lungs just as the blackness had begun to close in. She often wondered if he truly knew what he'd done for her, if he really understood how much she owed him.

And now, in thanks and gratitude, she was going to crush him.

It was inevitable. From day one, she knew that though he carried love and light and affection and everything she'd never had, it could only be hers for a moment. At first that's what kept her away, but soon the temptation became too much. She thought she could control herself, touch heaven for just a moment and be renewed. It became the same old story, though. Like any addict, she fell quickly down that slippery slope and then it was too late.

Grace closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _It's for the best. Don't let him throw his life away, not for you. Never for you. _

And all too soon she was in his room, watching him count his graduation money over and over, practically drooling over the possibilities ahead of him. She smiled then. A detached feeling came over her body. Maybe she was merely the pawn in some bigger game of life, fate's hand pushing her into play. She was doing the right thing. She had to be. Still, she took a moment to burn this image of him in her brain, the endearing bundle of nervous energy he became when he got excited about something.

When he launched into his detailed itinerary of the summer ahead, Grace knew it was the time. _One fell swoop, like a band-aid._ She dropped the crumpled envelope in front of him.

"Grace?" He looked up at her with questioning eyes.

"Just read it, Girardi." It was all she trusted her voice to say. He would figure it out easily enough, genius that he was.

He fumbled with the letter at first, until finally his eyes fixed on the page, darting quickly through the few short paragraphs. He didn't take long to figure out what the implications were.

"New York University, Grace? Are you serious?" She could only nod. He looked panicked, worried. "I uh, we, I mean, we didn't talk about this."

She had to look away from him, his clear brown eyes able to see too much about her. With a final step, she plunged into there's-no-turning-back-now.

"I saw your acceptance letter to MIT." Grace was able to edge the hurt out of the words with cold accusation.

His face fell. He knew what was coming. He had to have seen it before. _Where did he really think they were headed?_

"I didn't—"

"You lied to me, Girardi." Emotions were turning in her stomach faster than she had time to process them- hurt, anger, sadness, confusion, regret. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "You lied and now you're throwing your future away for no good reason. I'm not going to let that happen."

Luke jumped out of his chair. "I'm not throwing my future away! This is my choice, my life!"

"Your future is not with me, Luke," she whispered, his name sticking on her lips. The hurt was obvious on his boyish features.

"You don't know that, Grace." His voice was rough with emotion. "Free will, remember? I choose to stay with you."

Something inside her died when the tears started free falling from his eyes. She dug her fingernails hard into her palms and forged on.

"My aunt is letting me stay with her for the summer while I find a job and save some money. I can't go to Arcadia Community College forever, you know."

"Grace, no. I thought—we had a plan!"

She ignored him. "I'm taking a train tonight. I called the MIT admissions office. You're late on the deposit but they were willing to overlook that for such a promising student." She smiled through watery eyes at that. "You might get stuck with a shitty living situation, but at least you'll be there, right?" She shrugged, looking anywhere but at Luke, finally settling on snatching her acceptance letter from his desk.

"This is ridiculous. This is…" He shook his head, searching for a logical argument. Reason failed him for once; he resorted to begging. "You can't do this, Grace! Please!"

She just shook her head and crossed the distance between them. He stared desperately at her as she gently brushed the tears from his face. She wanted to kiss him again, for the last time, but knew her resolve would crumble if she tried. Instead, she picked up one of his hands and gave it a tender squeeze.

"It's for the best, Girardi. I promise." He shook his head.

"Grace," he pleaded, "I _love_ you." He tried to pull her to him, but she was quicker and easily moved away.

Then, as she moved toward the door, she turned with one last smile and a few errant tears and said, "It's been fun."

_It's been fun?_ She hated herself.

She heard him shout as she shut the door behind her. She wasn't two steps away when a loud crashed followed. She paused, expecting him to chase after her, but she must've done a good enough job because he didn't. The sobs she heard next echoed in her ears as she dashed down the staircase and out the door. His broken eyes were all she could see as she stuffed random possessions into her bags. It wasn't until she was safely on the train to New York City that she allowed herself to breakdown and cry.


	2. This Damn Thing

Thanks to everyone for all the great feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Hope this next part doesn't disappoint. I have one more chapter in the can and am coming along on a few more. Hopefully I'll be able to keep the updates coming. This should be 15 parts total, if my outline is to be believed. Also, MAJOR THANKS to VanillaBean for correcting my HUGE mistake of making Luke's eyes brown instead of blue. Silly me. I couldn't remember, so I was looking at screen caps. Maybe it's the lighting on the show or else the fact I couldn't find a cap of Luke sans glasses—I just went with brown. Then, once I was corrected, I checked out a gallery of MW pics and lo and behold—glorious blue! What was I thinking? I stand corrected. If anyone else catches any glaring errors like that, please point them out. I will go back and edit the first chapter to correct that mistake ASAP. Thanks again for reading and enjoy!!

_All these wasted dreams  
Waiting for the sun to open up my heart to anyone  
Bring me some rain  
Because I'm dying and I can't get this damn thing closed again_  
(Children in Bloom)

**December 13, 2015**

She was late, of course.

Grace sighed and sunk further into the worn armchair. The constant noise in the coffee shop was giving her a headache. Glancing down at her watch again, she decided that if Joan wasn't there in ten minutes, she was bailing. She had better things to do than to wait around, letting her clothes soak up the pungent odor of stale coffee that would linger indefinitely. Or at least until she got around to the laundry, which would definitely be later rather than sooner.

"C'mon, Girardi," she whispered, her boots tapping the tile impatiently.

As if summoned, the door to the shop flung open, sending a burst of cold air into the room. A rather bloated woman followed, struggling with a load of packages. Grace rolled her eyes and got up to help.

"Dude, did you buy out the entire city or what?" Grace relieved Joan of most of her bags, leading her toward the armchairs she'd staked out.

"Oh, shut it." Joan waddled behind her, hand planted firmly on back. "At least I patronized local business instead of oh, what do you call it, feeding the gaping maw of the corporate commercial beast?" She paused to get some air. "Oh! Look! You got the good chairs!" With some effort, Joan sank her pregnant body into the velour cushions.

Grace took her seat again, trying to arrange Joan's purchases so they didn't take up the entire floor space around them. That done, she took a moment to take stock of her friend.

Joan was in the last few weeks of her pregnancy and it showed. Her stomach was ready to blow. Still, Grace had to admit, she looked good despite the threat of impending explosion. The extra flush in her cheeks and warmth in her smile personified the old "glowing pregnant woman" cliché. It was clear Joan was meant for the undertaking; her happiness at her current state was undeniable. A fleeting image of her own body in the same condition passed through Grace's mind. She snarled. _Yeah, right. I can't even keep a houseplant alive. _

Joan groaned. "Don't make me move for the next hour. My ankles weigh like forty pounds. Each!"

Joan had always had a knack for the bitch-and-moan hormonal routine.

Grace eyed the line at the counter and decided now was their best opportunity. Not about to make Joan move again, she kindly offered to place an order for her. Clearly a mistake.

"Ooh, hot chocolate sounds divine right now. But only if they have real whipped cream and maybe with a hint of mint—no, wait, cinnamon. Get it with skim milk, please, and have them make it extra hot. And, ooh, one of those white chocolate brownie thingies. Or, wait, maybe an oatmeal cookie. Yes, that sounds perfect."

Grace waved off Joan's attempt to scrounge for her wallet in her mess of bags. The quicker she got their order, the less chance for Joan to change her mind.

A few minutes later, Joan was moaning and sighing over her beverage. Grace just rolled her eyes and sipped at her steaming Americano. She idly wondered exactly how much of her meager income was spent at this café over the years. Much more than she had to spare, that was for sure.

"So, Grace, I was thinking…"

"Oh, this cannot be good," she muttered. Joan shot her a look.

"…my parent's are having their annual Christmas—holiday—party thing."

"Absolutely not."

Joan resorted to the whining-puppy-dog eyes approach. "But, Grace! Please! I know you don't have a good excuse this year—"

"Dude, Chanukah is not an excuse!"

"Well, whatever. It's already over so now you have to come. My parents really want you there. I want you there."

Grace avoided her friend's eyes, instead picking at her sweater. "_Joan_, your parents don't want me there."

Joan heaved a large sigh. "Of course they do, Grace. They know you're important to Adam and me. They've known you forever. And if you're even worried about the whole you-once-dated-my-brother thing—well, that was so ten years ago."

"Nine years ago." Grace for some reason fixated on that hole in her argument.

Joan shot her a weird look. "Whatever." She paused, munching thoughtfully on her cookie. Grace tensed up, knowing Joan was on the verge of doing something to piss her off. Over the years, she'd developed a sense about these things. "You know, Grace, I can't remember the last time you dated."

Grace sighed. _Here we go._ "Yeah, me either." She started to shred a napkin. Joan made a disapproving noise, studying Grace carefully. Grace wavered under the scrutiny, eventually caving: "Girardi, would you lay off it? This is the last thing I want to talk about right now."

Joan waved off her comment. "It's _Rove_ now, Grace. And, anyway, you never want to talk about it. So I'm forcing the issue." At that, Joan turned slightly and mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "happy now?"

Passing it off as Joan's eternal quirkiness, Grace instead retorted, "I will not be forced!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Joan sighed and sipped her drink. She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "So, let me think…there was that fling or whatever with Charlie the protester—"

"Social activist. And that was more of… an extended one night stand."

"Ookay." Joan polished off the rest of her cookie. "So Charlie and, oh, Duncan that musician dude—"

Grace made a face at the memories of that tumultuous albeit short-lived romance. "Yeah, let's not talk about that one."

"Unchallenged." Joan nodded. "Okay, so not counting all the failed blind dates and the other indiscretions I'm sure you've never told me about—" Joan gave her a pointed look at that one. "That leaves us with the last serious relationship you've had and that would be….oh, eeew…Luke."

Grace had the decency to look ashamed, but quickly masked that with a withering gaze. "Your point, Girardi?"

Something seemed to click for Joan. "Oh, please tell me you're not still hung up on _Luke_?"

"God, no!" Grace exclaimed, regretting not walking out of the coffee shop the minute her love life took the spotlight. "That would be ridiculous."

"Yeah," Joan nodded, studying her carefully. Grace hated that she could see the wheels turning in Joan's brain. "That would be pretty absurd."

Grace made a noise in her throat and chugged some of her rapidly cooling coffee. Anything to avoid Joan's questioning glance. Though Joan had changed little over the years, she did seem to now possess this uncanny ability to break-through her normal haze of ditziness and self-involvement with incredible moments of insight. As she grew older, she really did seem to grow wiser and that really pissed Grace off sometimes. Because now when Joan decided to meddle, she was actually pretty effective at it. She only hoped Joan wouldn't bother with this lost cause.

Luckily, Joan seemed content to leave the topic. "So, you'll be at the party, right? Because otherwise you will leave poor vulnerable, pregnant me to fend off random relatives and my parents' friends all alone."

"Your wonderful husband will protect you, I'm sure."

"Please, Adam turns all weird around my family. You know that." Joan crinkled up her nose. "He actually enjoys these kinds of things."

Grace shook her head. _And once again, Clueless Joan!_

"Girardi, would you let it go? I'd rather go shampoo my hair or something. Besides, I need to get 10 more pages of my dissertation to ol' Cougie by Sunday or it's my ass."

"Not working, Grace. You don't have to teach any classes this week; you have plenty of free time." Joan paused. _Here comes the kicker_. "Besides, not that you care, but Luke probably won't even be there. He cannot bear to remove himself from his precious lab until security kicks him out on Christmas Eve or something."

Grace fumed silently for a moment. _It's either give in now or endure relentless nagging until I succumb to the torture. Might as well make this quick and painless._ "Fine, Girardi. But the second some creepy old man tries to hit on me, I'm out."

Joan squealed and started to make a verbal list of all the characters she was sure to encounter at the party. Grace just slumped in her chair, wondering for the millionth time why she continued to put herself in these situations.


	3. Waiting at Home

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying this. For those of you who caught the little Joan/God reference: yup, that was what was going on there. Maybe someday I'll write a companion piece detailing Joan's role in all of this, but you can be sure she's going to be working her "magic" on our dynamic duo. Keep your eyes peeled. :-) I wanted to post this yesterday, but I had a hard time letting go of it. I want to keep a chapter ahead of myself, but the next chapter (the party!) is quite the beast to write. Blame it on Grace; she is totally not cooperating, taking the chapter places I didn't even plan on going. sigh What can you do, right? Anyway, so the end to this chapter has been rewritten two or three times. I'm posting it now to keep myself from changing it, and thus the subsequent chapter(s), again. If I get too fussy, as is my wont, this will never get done. Hope it works for y'all. If not, let me know! heh. ;-) Enjoy!

_I gotta get out on my own  
I gotta get up from this waiting at home  
__I gotta get out of this sunlight  
It's melting my bones  
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home_

**December 18, 2015**

"Gracie?" Grace paused and bit her lip. "Grace, honey?"

With a sigh, Grace dumped some detergent in the dishwasher. "Just a sec, Dad."

Grace started up the appliance and wiped her hands on her pants. She walked into the living room to find her father searching for something.

"Have you seen my newspaper anywhere, Grace?" He started checking under the pillows on the couch. "I told you not to take it yet. I haven't finished reading it."

Grace watched him for a moment, then slowly walked over to her dad's recliner. Lifting up the afghan there, she held up the missing item.

The retired rabbi immediately stopped and chuckled. "Oh, what would I do without you?"

With a tight smile, she folded the blanket and placed it neatly on the chair. "So, Nancy is coming over tomorrow morning to clean. She said that last time she was here, you talked her ear off and she didn't get much done. Maybe you should make yourself scarce while she's working. Go out to breakfast or something."

"Fine, fine. Will you join me?" The hopeful smile on his face pulled at Grace's heart.

"Sorry, Dad, I have to head out to school for a few hours. I'm getting behind in my research."

"Ah, I see. Am I going to be able to say we have a doctor in the family any time soon?"

Grace snorted. "Yeah, at the rate I'm going I'll be defending my dissertation from a retirement home."

Rabbi Polanski's smile faded. He took a tentative step toward Grace, who took a step back.

"Dad," she warned, voice soft. He didn't move, but the look of pity and regret on his face was enough. Grace had to get out of there. "I made you a casserole for tomorrow. It's in the fridge. The directions to bake it are taped on top."

"Gracie…" He reached out into the void between them.

"And you have to remember to take your medication with each meal, okay? It's all set out for you." Grace edged toward the door.

Her father gave a resigned sigh. "You're too good to me, Grace. I can take care of myself, you know."

"Of course you can," Grace lied. "Well, I'm going to take off now. Have a good night, Dad. Call if you need anything."

"Drive safely, Grace." She let him walk over and kiss her on the cheek. Then, with a soft smile, she left.

She barely remembered the short drive to her apartment. On autopilot, she unlocked her door, tossed her keys and bag on the kitchen table, and shed her jacket and boots. The neon sign of the deli below cast a blue light through her windows, illuminating the small space. With a few steps, she traversed the kitchen, putting a kettle on to boil along the way. With a few more steps, she flopped onto her bed.

She hated her apartment. The building itself was old with crappy plumbing. She was on a first name basis with the exterminator. And the couple in the apartment next door was constantly fighting or fucking, all clearly heard through the paper thin walls.

But all that she could deal with. It was the lingering smell of meat and mildew that greeted her when she came home (no matter how much incense she burned) that made her skin crawl. It was why most nights she found it hard to sleep, tossing and turning until she just gave up and whittled away the darkness by grading brainless essays or writing lengthy rants on the state of society.

Bottom line, it wasn't a home. It was a situation. Like the rest of her life, she was merely just making do. She had put her academic and career ambitions on permanent hold to take care of her father. The rest of her life, too, seemed to stall out. The place she'd always planned on escaping, and had for a time, had sucked her back in. Arcadia was slowly bleeding the life out of her and sometimes she forgot to care.

Staring at the water stain on the ceiling, Grace let out a frustrated scream. It reverberated in the small space, rang pathetically in her ears. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. Her mind drifted, reaching for a comforting thought. Funny how it always took her back to a certain time in her life:

_A college radio station whined in the background. The room smelled kind of musty and a little like a chemistry lab, but mostly it smelled like him. His fingers were tracing patterns on her arms, spelling out chemical equations and atomic numbers. Their legs were tangled up as they lay together on his bed. Feeling utterly content, her eyes drifted closed._

_"Grace," he whispered, "don't fall asleep on me here."_

_"Can't help it. I'm tired." She scooted closer to him, seeking his warmth. He brushed her hair from her face. Grace smiled. _

_He let her rest for a few minutes, stroking her face tenderly, easing her into sleep. But then his hands drifted a little lower. The neurons in her neck started firing like crazy; it was her most sensitive spot. His touch was light, taunting, and definitely woke her up. She played dead, though, wondering what he'd do next. She didn't have to wait long. His hand fell to her hip, moving her body even closer to his as his lips begun assaulting her neck. _

_"Luke," she gasped when he hit the right spot. Opening her eyes, she met his fiery gaze. So she wasn't exactly playing fair, either. She rarely used his given name so when she did it got him all riled up. And that was that; there would be no stopping him now. Someone should've warned her about sexually aggressive science geeks. Though, she supposed, she should've known it herself. The intense passion he had for physics could easily be focused onto other aspects of his life…like her. _

_She stilled his hand when he reached for her belt. "Dude, your parents!" _

_Luke pulled back a little, breathing hard. He got that little smirk on his face that always drove her crazy: it made her want to either roll her eyes or kiss him senseless. "Out of town, remember? They had to pick Joan and Adam up for Christmas break. They won't be back until morning."_

_Grace couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face. "And they left the teenage horndog off a leash?"_

_He shrugged. He was multitasking now: while his eyes held her attention, his fingers worked at their clothes. "Well, Kevin is supposed to stay over, but he has some big date with a girl he met at PT. In all likelihood, he won't be back until late. And regardless of that, he knows better than to come check on me." _

_"Dude, tell me you did not warn him I'd be over." She gave him the most menacing look she could manage in their current position. _

_"I don't have to warn him, Grace. Our parents are gone for the night and I have a girlfriend. Besides, he's a Girardi—"_

_"—and all Girardi men are dogs. Yeah, yeah." She leaned in to kiss him._

_Dodging her, he laughed. "I wouldn't say that, Grace." Off her look, he picked up her right hand and placed a gentle kiss on her wrist, directly on the tattoo she had there. She grinned. "Girardi men do have the distinguished reputation of knowing how to treat their women—"_

_"Their women? You so did not just go there." The twinkle in his eyes told her he was just looking to get a rise out of her; political arguments and scientific babbling were their twisted form of flirting, after all. Instead of making a smart retort, his lips returned to her neck. The argument that had been poised at the tip of Grace's tongue was lost at the sensation. She snaked her hand under his shirt, pulling him closer still. _

_They lapsed into a silent conversation, then, words composed of heavy looks and gentle touches._

_"Grace," he whispered his voice thick with emotion. She waited. The familiar butterflies were uncaged in her stomach. Then, with a soft kiss: "I love you." _

_She grinned in response, that cheek-splitting goofy smile that only he could elicit from her, and kissed him hard. "I love you too," she replied, still overcome whenever he said those words to her; even more overcome at how easily the tumbled from her lips in return. She truly meant them, too. Try and fight it as she often did, in moments like this when everything was quiet and they seemed to exist in their own little world, there was no denying it. With every look, every touch, she knew that she would do anything for him. It scared the shit out of her, but there it was. It was impossible to deny the way that Luke had made her reorder her world, label things she'd once had no vocabulary for. He changed her. For better or worse, however, it was yet to be determined. _

_She tried not to follow that line of thought as Luke pulled his shirt over his head. Tonight, it was just them and she would easily say that moments where there was nothing to come between her and Luke—no Joan or Adam, no family, none of those Big Issues hanging between them, and, best of all, no clothes— those moments were her favorite. So clearing her head of reason and giving herself over to feeling, she let go._

Grace drifted out of the past only to realize the kettle had been whistling for some time now. She swore loudly. One of her frisky neighbors banged on the wall and cursed right back at her. Biting her lip to keep from letting loose one of her trademark tirades at the peeling paint, she stomped over to the stove and moved the protesting item.

Cars honked on the street below. A siren wailed in crisis. Her neighbors erupted in argument. It only mirrored the internal chaos Grace was experiencing as she fixed herself a mug of tea. Her deviant thoughts kept pulling her back to that night so many years ago. Her body was equal in its betrayal; she could almost feel Luke's curious fingers mapping her skin. _Stop! You're pathetic! Don't be that loser—that was high school, a silly teen infatuation, nothing to obsess over now! _

Her mind continued to struggle—logic and reason versus emotion and nostalgia. Eventually the screamed insults of the couple next door drowned out her thoughts, leaving Grace to sip her tea in welcomed mental silence.

It was only later, as she was about to drift off to sleep, that she came to a realization. It popped in her head clear as day, undeniable. She was still hung up on Luke. _You still love him. _

It was a disturbing thought. It meant nine years wasted. Nine years of wondering why there hadn't been someone else, not realizing what was truly holding her back. She'd seen Luke once—once!—in that time. Clearly, it was way beyond the point of picking up the phone and apologizing. She knew he was at a different spot in his life now; she knew that four years ago. There would be no last minute reconciliation because time had been up years ago.

Grace rolled onto her back with a sigh. _Well, at least now that I can acknowledge the truth, I can move on. Now that I know I am really and truly pathetic, all I can do is accept that, move on, and try to get past this. Remember, you don't need anyone. You, Grace Polk, only need yourself. No Attachments, remember? They only hold you back. Look at your life now. Suck it up and move forward. Be a brick wall. Grace Polk is an island on the verge of world conquest._

Satisfied with those thoughts and feeling somewhat empowered, Grace slipped out of consciousness. Her last thought being she was kind of looking forward to the Girardi Christmas party, if only to show her friends her new outlook on life.


	4. Have You Seen Me Lately?

Thanks again for all the kind reviews. I'm glad you guys are enjoying this. I'll leave the rest of my notes until the end of the chapter. Enjoy! (?)

_Get away from me, just get away from me  
This isn't gonna be easy  
But I don't need you, believe me  
You got a piece of me  
But it's just a little piece of me  
And I don't need anyone  
These days I feel like I'm fading away_  
(Have You Seen Me Lately)

**December 19, 2015**

Frank Sinatra crooned Christmas carols as friends and family of the Girardi clan milled about the room. Eggnog and red wine flowed freely. Laughter punctuated the air, floating between the prattle of awkward small talk and the boisterous stories told by those who'd imbibed too much Christmas spirits. The heady scent of cinnamon and pine filled the house, so warm and cozy with holiday cheer.

As for Grace, she was definitely both warm and cozy—maybe a little too much so. Sandwiched between an exceedingly large Joan and Helen Girardi's overabundance of throw pillows, she had a serious lack of personal space. Joan was bouncing her legs in some sort of anxious tick. She kept bumping Grace's leg as a result, no matter how many warnings Grace sent her way. Even Adam's hand on her knee didn't still her movements. Fed up, Grace tossed the pillows to the floor and scooted closer to the arm of the couch. She indulged in the luxury of sprawling out. On the other side of Joan, Adam was inspired to do the same.

"What? Am I repulsive now?" Joan's voice was mostly kidding, but Grace could detect the undercurrent of hysterical hormones.

"Of course not, Jane. You're beautiful." Adam's face held genuine praise. Grace felt nauseous. Though Adam was normally sappy beyond belief, he'd taken it to a whole other level throughout Joan's pregnancy. He'd found heaping compliments on his wife to be his best protection against stepping on verbal landmines.

"Then why did you both move away?" Joan spoke more to Adam than Grace. Grace snorted as Adam struggled for an answer that would not set Joan off. Grace, however, could easily ignore Joan's mood swings and therefore didn't bother to tread lightly.

"Dude, you were being annoying with all the bouncing and jittering. Are you trying to jiggle that thing out or something?"

Joan gave Grace a sufficiently evil look. "Yes, Auntie Grace, I am. The sooner I pop, the sooner I can make you change dirty diapers."

"Make me change a diaper? There aren't enough methods of torture in this world."

Adam leaned over his wife's protruding stomach, a teasing smile on his face. "Aww, I think Grace is going to make a wonderful aunt."

"Rove," Grace warned. She hated when they ganged up on her. Leaning as far back into the couch as possible, she kept quiet for a minute to let Joan and Adam devolve into their usual mushiness as they inevitably would. She sighed. This party was just as boring as she had feared it would be. _So much for the debut of the new and improved I-don't-need-anyone-to-be-happy-so-bite-me-or-die-bitches Grace. _She smirked to herself.

"What are you so happy about Polk?" Joan snapped.

"Just counting my blessings, Girardi. Namely, that I had the wisdom to never attend this party before and will never have to attend it again."

"Cha, it's not that bad."

"Oh, but it is."

"C'mon, Grace, there's some really cool people here. Like, see that woman over there? With Mrs. G?" Adam pointed to a woman about Helen's age with long grey hair, dressed all in black save some bold silver jewelry. "She spent the last two years in South Africa studying folk art. She also taught in some of the schools there. She's got some awesome stories." Adam paused, something dawning on his face. "Whoa, I just thought of something I need to ask her. Excuse me." With that, he stood up and walked a few steps away only to turn back. He smiled at Joan. "Jane, honey, do you need anything while I'm up?"

Joan shook her head. Then, Adam was off.

"Do you see what I mean, Grace?" Joan gestured wildly at the now empty seat on the couch. "Weird!"

"Yeah. Weird like a circus animal. Lay off that whip a little bit, Girardi."

Joan rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous."

Her words cut straight to Grace's gut. Grace knew she wasn't serious, just playing at their usual banter. Normally those words would've rolled right off her and into her next verbal jab. But tonight, in her current frame of mind, they hurt. She wasn't quite sure why.

Grace recovered quickly. "_Jealous_?" she scoffed, " No. I'm just suggesting that for your benefit you let Rove off the leash once in awhile. Because one of these days I won't be able to hold it back anymore."

"Hold what back?" Joan stroked her stomach absently.

"The urge to vomit all over you both."

The expression on Joan's face was enough to make Grace feel better. Standing up, she declared she was in the mood for cheesecake. Then, she walked off leaving Joan beached on the couch with no one to help her up.

"You better save me a piece, Grace Polk, or there will be hell to pay!" Joan's voice rose over the noise of the party. "Do you hear me? Hell to pay!"

* * *

Some time later, Grace had made her way back to Joan, who was still marooned on the couch. She brought her friend a peace offering in the form of strawberry cheesecake. Grace sat down with an exaggerated sigh and wondered how much longer she had to stay. People were starting to trickle out; the food was running low. She looked sideways at Joan. The woman was having an X-rated time with her cheesecake, that was for sure.

Suddenly, two laughing children crash landed at Joan's feet. Joan calmly passed her plate to Grace for "safe keeping."

"Aunt Jo! Owen pulled my hair!" A little girl, about four years old, whined as she crawled into her aunt's lap. The resemblance between her and Kevin was easy to see.

"Did not!" Owen protested, stumbling as he tried to climb up next to his sister. He was a little younger, his pudgy cheeks flushed with color. Everyone said he looked more like his mother, Mallory, with his blond hair and vivid blue eyes. _But I think he looks like Luke—he has that same curious look on his face, the wheels always turning behind those innocent eyes. _

"Aw, Emmy, you're okay." Joan stroked her niece's chestnut hair, dropping a kiss there for good measure. Emma sighed and tried to burrow closer to her aunt. She turned to stick her tongue out at her younger brother when she noticed him still on her heels.

"Emma, now what did Daddy say about behaving at the party?" Kevin wheeled up to his escaped children, scooping his daughter off Joan's lap and onto his. Flustered, Emma tried to smooth out her wrinkled party dress.

"You said if I don't play nice with Owen then Santa will leave gold in my stocking." Her words were matter of fact, filled with slight fear. Grace bit back a snort at the girl's mistake.

"_Coal_, darling, not gold," Kevin corrected, brushing some of the hair out of her face. "Coal." Emma nodded solemnly in response, mouthing the new word to herself.

Meanwhile, Owen had finally managed to scale the couch. Grace was compelled to smile at him, seeing as how his achievement went unnoticed by the others. He smiled shyly back and ducked his head into Joan's arm. _The kid is definitely cute, if you like that sort of thing._ An unfamiliar warmth spread through Grace, tugging at her heart. She frowned.

_Oh no. This is why I try to avoid this family as much as possible. Their uncanny ability to warp my brain. _She quickly shrugged off any lingering tender emotions by listing in her mind all the reasons why procreation is bad. She was clearly on the verge of some sort of mental breakdown here; it was the only explanation for the madness of the past few days. She longed to be back at her apartment, curled up in bed with a good book. Something to give her back some of her sanity. Maybe it was time to dust off her copy of _Backlash _or another feminist classic.

* * *

The party began to wind down. Gone were the casual acquaintances and obligatory invites. The few guests that remained were family, if not in blood in heart. Grace was surprised she made it this long, but Rove had been right. There were some surprisingly interesting people in attendance. Now, however, she started to feel a little out of place. Joan and Adam were seeing Mr. Rove off; the man was positively giddy at his pending grandfather status. Kevin and his wife, Mallory, were chatting with some relatives Grace didn't know. Will was engaged in a hearty discussion with some of his work colleagues while Helen entertained her grandchildren with stories about the ornaments on the Christmas tree. Grace felt a familiar emptiness settle in her heart.

She wandered into the kitchen. She might as well be useful and try to make some sense of the food tray carnage. She'd wait for Joan and Adam to return before saying goodbye to her hosts. After nearly a decade, Grace still wasn't ready to face Helen Girardi on her own. She had broken Luke's heart, pure and simple. Though Helen was always outwardly warm and friendly to her, the cold remembrance of that fact was still in her eyes and it made Grace feel all of two feet tall.

Grace sighed and begun to empty abandoned drinks into the sink.

The sudden ring of the doorbell startled her.

The party got quiet. It was beyond fashionably late to show up now. She heard Will volunteer to answer the door.

She wasn't aware she was holding her breath until Will's surprised "Luke!" echoed through the house.

Her heart dropped. _Oh no, oh no no NO. _

The rest of the party reacted differently. She could hear their joyous greetings as they all rushed to meet the surprise visitor.

She quickly tossed the plastic cups she held, looking around the room in a panic. The door stared her in the face. Her instinct was to run. Then she heard his voice. Grace froze.

"I'm glad I could make it too…Yeah, our research team shut down for the holidays so there wasn't much I could do there anyway…yeah, yeah…wanted it to be a surprise…Mom, don't cry!...Joan, my goodness you are massive!" Laughter drowned out the rest.

Hearing his voice after so long was almost more than she could handle. It meant that he was really here. That somewhere in that mess of Girardis in the other room was Luke and that scared the shit out of her. What had it been? Four, five years since their last encounter? And that remained their only contact since breaking up and that had been…unexpected. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of what could happen this time around.

She wanted to see him again.

Grace wiped her hands on a dishtowel, started for the living room, then stopped. She smoothed down her black pants. She tucked her hair behind her ears. She untucked it again. She adjusted her sweater and necklace. She paused, taking stock. When she went for her hair again, she stopped herself and reminded herself to get a damn grip.

_It's just Luke. What's your problem, Polk? You're not a teenager anymore. You didn't even act like this when you were a teenager so get the hell over it and be normal. _

It was easier said than done. She was unsure what to do next. Greeting him with the rest of the family would definitely be weird. But waiting here for him to find her in the kitchen might be even weirder. Her eyes darted to the exit again, but her feet were planted to the ground. _I knew I shouldn't have come. Damn Joan. _

She tuned into the scene in the other room just in time to hear Helen's lilting voice ask, "Luke, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

Grace stopped breathing. _Oh. Of course. _Without a doubt, she knew what was coming.

"Ah, right." She imagined him blushing. "Everyone, this is my girlfriend—

Grace didn't catch the rest. The blood rushing through her ears made it impossible to hear. _Well, what did you expect Polk? A happy reunion after all this time? That one night should've been a gaudy neon sign of a hint. It's over. _

She took several deep breaths, willing her head to stop spinning.

Against her better judgment, Grace crept toward the front of the house. Just a glimpse of him, then she was high-tailing it out of there. A crowd had formed around him, half in the foyer and half in the living room. He was easy enough to spot; he stood a good deal taller than most. Grace ignored the way her stomach fluttered when she got a glimpse of his face. He looked…good. His face had lost some of its boyishness; it was now more angular and complimented by the subtle frames of his glasses instead of overwhelmed by them.

Grace fought the grin that tugged at her lips as she got a better look at him. His lean frame had filled out over the years erasing all traces of his former awkwardness. He was totally the geeky albeit attractive professor she knew he would be. Most importantly though, he was still Luke and really hadn't changed much at all.

It was in that moment their eyes met.

Grace was unprepared for it. How once she found herself staring into his clear blue eyes it felt as if her feet had been swept out from under her. She couldn't have torn her gaze from his if the world had exploded around her. Then, he smiled at her and it might as well have.

"Grace," he whispered, his smile widening. She felt giddy, or as close to giddy as Grace Polk allowed herself to get.

But then everyone else followed Luke's gaze and saw her standing there, alone, an outsider in their happy reunion. Those who knew the history between them fell silent, waiting. Those who did not sensed the tension and watched. Luke's smile faded once he realized the awkwardness of the situation.

Grace shifted on her feet. _Someone up there really hates me._

Luke cleared his throat and put on a smile nothing like the one he wore before. He moved to close the distance between them. It took all of her strength of will to propel herself forward.

"Grace." He reached for her. Grace didn't know if she should hug him or what. It seemed like he was going for it, so she did as well. It was quick, stiff, and beyond awkward. When he pulled back, he forced another smile. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"I invited her!" Joan suddenly, and rather abruptly, piped up. All eyes swung over to her. Grace was never more grateful for her friend's predilection for public embarrassment, even though her words made Grace feel even more uncomfortable. Still, Joan's interruption seemed to break the tension as people went back to their own conversations.

Grace focused back on Luke, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. She struggled for words. "If I'd have known…I mean, I didn't know you'd be…" She gestured lamely at him, unsure just what she was trying to say. _Nice, Grace. Go ahead and admit you actively try to avoid him._ Grace hated the cocky air he got when he knew he was getting to her.

He smirked. "It's nice to see you again, Grace."

Grace had to look away. "Yeah, you too."

Silence fell between them. Grace hated small talk, especially in a situation like this where miles of issues lay between them.

She thanked every known god when Helen interrupted them. "Luke! Would you mind putting your luggage upstairs?"

Luke gave her an apologetic look. "I should…" He gestured toward the stairs.

"Yeah," she agreed. She forced a smile. "I'll see you later." He nodded, turned, and walked away.

Grace sighed. She needed to get out of there. A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her flight.

"Grace." She turned to see a sympathetic Joan. "I'm sorry; he said he wouldn't be able to make it."

Grace shrugged. "Whatever, no big deal."

Joan looked skeptical but said nothing. Nervously, she glanced to the left. Grace followed her gaze and immediately regretted it. _Her._

She knew she'd have to acknowledge her presence sooner or later, though she was hoping for much later. Like after she had a prefrontal lobotomy.

"Your basic nightmare, huh?" Joan said with disgust as they eyed the woman. Grace had to agree, a scowl forming on her face. The woman was tall and shapely, blonde hair and blue eyes. Her long hair shimmered in the light of the fireplace as she chatted with Kevin and Mallory, a blinding smile on her face.

"Can you believe she just got off a cross-country flight? I hate her." Joan glowered, self-consciously adjusting her maternity dress. "She's his frickin' lab assistant, for crying out loud. And no one should be that tan in December. I don't care if they live in California!" Grace knew Joan's tirade was partly for her benefit, and for that she was thankful. The easiest thing for Grace to do was hate someone.

"Science Barbie," Grace muttered. For the first time since high school, Grace felt totally inadequate. That was it. She was a stranger to herself. "I need a drink."

"I'm already there, my friend." Joan handed her a tumbler full of gold liquid. Grace gave her a harsh look; the woman was pregnant, after all. Joan rolled her eyes. "For you, Grace. Now drink up. I'm living vicariously."

Grace couldn't argue with that. She took a shot; it burned all the way down. "Uhh! That is awful." Wiping her mouth, she tried to pass the glass back to Joan, who ignored it.

"Dad's scotch."

"Yeah. I got that." Grace crinkled her nose. She'd never been much of a drinker. Credit her mother, the raging alcoholic, for turning her off from the stuff. A glass of wine or a beer now and then and that was basically it. Except, of course, for drastic situations such as these. She discretely abandoned the still half-full tumbler on a table. She could already feel the scotch buzzing in her system.

Joan studied her carefully. "Are you okay, Grace?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, instantly regretting it. Joan seemed to understand, though, and offered her a comforting smile.

"If you need to talk about it—

"I'm losing my mind. What is there to talk about?" Grace couldn't tear her eyes off Science Barbie despite the unmistakable coils of jealously in her stomach. She wanted to run screaming from the room, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that meant she wouldn't see Luke again and so she didn't. And that was the only reason why. _I need to be committed!_

Joan raised an eyebrow. "Grace," she warned. Then her voice softened, "You know I'm here for you."

_You can do this. Maybe talking about it will help. It will sound ridiculous once you say it out loud and then you'll laugh and be normal again._

Grace sighed in defeat. Glancing around the room, she decided they didn't have enough privacy for what she needed to say. She grabbed Joan's arm and pulled her into Will's office, ignoring Joan's cries of protest.

Once they were safe, she turned to Joan, looking her dead in the eye. "Promise you won't freak."

Joan eyed her warily. "Oh, I'm not the one freaking out here."

Grace gave her a dirty look. "Promise?"

Joan nodded, so Grace ventured on. Her hands were shaking. "So, I was thinking the other day. A lot. About what we talked about." She searched Joan's face for understanding. Joan gestured for her to continue.

"So maybe for some unknown, insane reason…maybe I've suffered a head injury or something, but…" She took a deep breath. "I am still hung up on Luke." Grace rushed out the last few words, bracing herself for Joan's inevitable overreaction.

Joan closed her eyes and took a slow breath. She muttered something to the sky. Grace waited. _C'mon, Girardi, tell me I'm crazy._ Instead, Joan got a resigned look in her eyes. She placed her hand on Grace's shoulder.

"I suspected as much, Grace."

Grace's whole body deflated. _Great, just great. Joan, the clueless wonder, suspected. I might as well take out a friggin' billboard._ "Tell me I'm pathetic."

Joan smothered a laugh. "You're not."

"I am."

"Well, yeah, I guess you kind of are." They both smiled. Grace felt a little better. Putting it out there for Joan of all people hadn't diminished what she was feeling as she'd hoped, but it did make the weight a little lighter.

"What do I do?" _Am I actually partaking in 'girl talk' at almost thirty years old? It just keeps getting worse and worse._

Joan sighed. "Tell him, Grace. That's the only way to know for sure."

Grace shook her head. "No. Next option."

"Write him a letter?" Joan's eager expression put violent thoughts in Grace's mind.

"Yeah, sure, Jane Austen. I'll just go sharpen my feather." Grace started to pace the room.

Joan shot her a nasty look. "That doesn't even make sense." Grace shrugged. "Okay, tell me, do _you_ have any ideas?"

Grace looked around the room, a brilliant solution blossoming in her head. "Where does your dad keep his gun?"

"Grace!"

"Seriously, Joan! No one would blame you! You're a hormonal pregnant woman acting in self-defense. I made an attempt to steal your baby from the womb and claim it as my own. Classic soap plotline that always works."

Joan grabbed her hands, eyes sympathetic. "Okay, first of all? I didn't know you watched soaps. And second of all, no I will not shoot my best friend."

"It'd be a mercy killing, like with rabid animals." Grace was desperate.

"No."

"Damn." She felt what little hope she had left for a return to sanity seeping away. She looked up at Joan, utterly lost.

"You're going to have to face him, Grace." Joan's words were gentle, knowing. "Just try and talk to him. Test the waters."

Grace looked away from her. "What about Science Barbie?"

Joan's mouth quirked up. "Please, like she has anything on you, the unparalleled Grace Polk. Besides, Luke adores you."

"Used to. Past tense."

"Are you sure about that?"

Grace sighed. She needed to think about this, make some sense of the mess in her head. She moved toward the door. Joan started to say something, but Grace held up her hand to stop her. "I just…I need some air."

Joan nodded and watched her go.

TBC

A.N.: Okay, so that was a beast of a chapter to write! A beast, I tell you! I'm still not entirely satisfied (am I ever?) but it was time to move on. Funny, I had this entire thing written but thought it was way too long. There used to be even more scenes with the Girardi fam, but the flow was way off so I went crazy, slashing and burning most of the chapter then rewriting it and still ended up with nearly 8 pages. deep breath I wasn't going to include that last J/G scene but I couldn't bring myself to cut it. For some reason, I needed to torture Grace in this chapter. Don't worry, she'll be rewarded in the end! Anyhoo, hope you guys made it through this one okay. The next chapter will be better, I promise!


	5. Stupid Choices

Thanks again for all the nice comments. I'm glad you guys are enjoying this! Though it can be a pill at times, I am definitely having a good time writing it! Here's the next part. More notes at the end so I don't spoil anything!

_All of these quiet battered voices  
Wait for the hunger to come  
We got little revolvers and stupid choices  
And no one to say when we're done  
(Well, I don't want to bring you down)_  
(Catapult)

Grace sat on the steps leading to the Girardi house. The night was unseasonably warm, but a cold wind still ripped through the air. Grace hugged her arms around her body to fend off the biting breeze. The chill felt good. Numbing.

She stared up at the night sky. The atmosphere was clear tonight giving her an unobstructed view of the stars. Her eyes played connect-the-dots with the glowing orbs. It made her wonder who decided that everyone should see the hunter Orion and his faithful dogs instead of something else. She liked to map out her own patterns, create her own mythology to explain the heavens. Because, really, who knew just what was out there and why? Her eyes followed a satellite as it traced its path over the earth.

All this she did without thinking. The blissful detachment she felt served to restore some of her sanity. She'd once told Joan love felt like a breakdown. If only she had known then how much worse it could get.

The door to the house opened behind her. She knew it was him. Something about the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in his presence. She waited. He walked slowly over to her and sat down on the step below the one she sat on. He leaned back on her step, his arms just inches from her legs, but didn't look at her. They watched the sky.

After a long moment, he spoke: "And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart."

She couldn't help the way the corners of her lips curled up at his words, at the gentle tone of his voice. "You gotta get a new line, Girardi," she teased.

"It's not a line, Grace," he whispered, sending a shiver through her body. She chanced a look at him. He was still mapping the stars with his eyes, calmly picking out various constellations with practiced ease. She wondered if he'd said those words at all.

Her eyes drifted closed. Damn him that he could still do this to her. Damn him quoting poetry. They spoke those lines to one another in sacred embraces and quiet moments under the sky. Hearing them again from him set the universe back nine years. It made her forget everything but the smell of him. (A new cologne, but still he smelled like science and coffee and comfort.) It made her forgot that a party was going on inside, a party that contained Science Barbie, whoever the hell she was. _Run, Grace, run._

Physically, she stayed, but her words sought safer ground. "Don't they make you physics geeks take an oath when they hand over the fake doctor title? Forsake the laws of science by spouting hopelessly romantic poetry and face certain death?"

Their eyes met. Luke chuckled. "Yeah, something like that. Still, it's an intriguing theory."

Grace raised her eyebrows. "A theory that can be too easily refuted." She tore her eyes from Luke's and looked at the sky. "Stars burn for billions of years. Love? You're lucky if you get a couple good years, tops. No way is it keeping this whole thing going."

Luke's face lit up, excited by their theoretical argument. _Just like old times, huh?_ "I don't know about that, Grace. Stars have a distinct life cycle. From the moment of their birth, they begin to die. Eventually their hydrogen will run out, nuclear fusion will cease. But love? It may fade over time but all it takes is an instant, a single moment, and it can be refueled. Reborn. To me, love seems like a constant. Something greater than the stars." He paused, then added somewhat sardonically, "It endures against both odds and reason." His gaze was heavy on her, searching for something.

Her breath caught in her throat; she felt her face go warm. Scared at the thought of what he might see in her, she forced her eyes to stay fixed on the empty street. Danger warnings sounded in her head.

Her hands were trembling. She picked at her sweater, trying to ignore the sign of weakness.

She chose her next words carefully. "They say that love shares the same neurochemical characteristics as the manic state of manic-depression." Grace paused, risking a look at her former boyfriend. His face was open, listening. _I forgot how it feels to have someone so completely focused on you._ She cracked a grin. "I always knew it had to be some sort of mental disorder."

Luke smiled back. "That would certainly explain a lot about Joan and Adam's relationship."

Grace laughed out loud. Whatever it was between them-- Sexual tension? Unrequited love? That moment had passed for now. The intensity between them seemed to dissipate, much to her relief, leaving a comfortable silence. Luke visibly relaxed. He stretched his legs out and titled his head farther back. Though the cold steps were far from comfortable, she wanted to stay there all night.

"So…I heard you are on the verge of becoming a fake doctor yourself." He looked proud. Grace's stomach fluttered.

She nodded. "I'm All But Dissertation right now. If I'm lucky, I'll be finished before next year. Though, the way things have been going...who knows?" Thoughts of all the obstacles she'd had to face the past few years hung heavy between them.

"Grace…" His voice was full of pity. Grace bristled. _No, Grace, not pity. This is Luke remember? It's sympathy…empathy, even. _

Still, it was a place Grace wasn't quite ready to go. "Don't…it's okay, really."

"I wanted to be at your mom's funeral, Grace. I really did. I tried like hell to be there, but my team had a paper to present and—

"You were in Russia." Grace pointed out the obvious. She sighed. "It's cool, dude. You had no obligation to be there anyway."

"I care about you, Grace. I want to be there for you." He added derisively, "You can't take that away from me no matter what."

Grace's eyes burned. She opened her mouth, found nothing to say, then closed it again.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No," Grace shook her head. She took a deep breath, unprepared to face these issues at the moment but knowing it had to be done. "You have every right. I shouldn't have ended it like I did. But if I hadn't, you wouldn't be where you are now. Would you have ever gone to MIT? Won all those awards there? Studied in Europe? Would you be doing the research you're doing now?"

_Would we still be happy together? Would I have someone to share the load with? Would my life be more than a fucking joke?_ She ignored those questions.

Luke sat up. He ran his hands through his short blond hair, messing up whatever style he'd been going for. "No one can pretend to answer a 'what if' with any certainty. Not even you, Grace. If I stayed local for college like we'd planned would I still have pursued the same scientific avenue? Yes. Would I have had the same opportunities? Be in the same place now? Probably not. But even if I was toiling away in a closet-sized laboratory at Arcadia Community College, I would've been happy. There is more than one kind of success, Grace." He gave her a pointed look that left no mystery to what he was trying to say. _He would've given it all up for me. Why? _

She didn't understand him. What made her worth it? He had Miss April waiting inside for him. How could she compete with that? "Yeah, well, you seem to be moving up in the world if Science Barbie is any indication."

"Science Barbie?" Luke rolled his eyes, barely hiding a grin. "Jealously isn't a good look for you."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "I'm not jealous. Just stating fact. You're the one talking all the hypothetical, 'what if' nonsense here. At least you come out of it with a swimsuit model." She folded her arms across her chest.

Luke adjusted his glasses. "Lindsay is a very intelligent woman, Grace. She assists with my research group. She is working toward her doctorate in aerospace engineering." His hands punctuated each point.

"Rocket Science Barbie," Grace snarked.

"_Grace_," Luke warned, though he laughed.

Grace thought for a moment. Maybe it wasn't her place to ask, but she had to know. "Do you love her?"

"I…" He paused, debating his words. "I care about her. A lot. She's a good person. Smart. Funny. We share the same positions on many issues, not to mention our similar interests in the scientific community and shared research agendas. We're very compatible."

Grace felt an odd comfort at his familiar logical reasoning, his need to explain away emotions with fact. She didn't want to push him, but he didn't answer her question. "But do you love her?"

Luke took a deep breath. He wouldn't look at her. "No, not like I should." He seemed to be admitting it to himself for the first time.

"Why?" She was almost afraid of his answer.

He looked at her, then. His eyes filled with regret and sadness. "I can't go through this again."

"What?" She was confused.

"You, Grace. Us. I won't do it again. I can't give everything to someone who isn't going to give everything back."

"I…" She swallowed the lump in her throat but it didn't matter. No words would come out. _Don't even think about crying, Polk._

"It's okay, Grace," he comforted. She wanted to reach out to him. She dug her fingers into her arms instead.

He leaned forward. "I came to a realization the last time we were together. That next morning I woke up so filled with hope for us, I wanted to run singing around the hotel. Just having you next to me again…. You look so peaceful when you sleep, you know. It's just another part of the mystery that is Grace Polk." He chuckled at his remark. Grace smiled, too, but he didn't see. He just stared off into the distance, remembering. "Nothing about you makes sense, Grace." He turned to her. The look on his face was enough to make Grace's eyes water. "We didn't make sense. But that was okay, you know? Everything else in my life is based on logic and science, laws and certainties. But the things you make me do, make me feel, go completely against everything else I believe in. In a world of reason, you are chaos. I love that about you. I wanted to be the one to solve the mystery, to be let into your world. I was willing to spend my life trying and not caring if I ultimately failed."

He stood up. Grace couldn't take her eyes off his. She held her breath.

He continued, "That's when I realized. The possibility that I might fail…was that right? For me and for you? I wondered if I was just deluding myself. For so long I thought that if I tried hard enough, I would succeed. But I could no longer ignore the cold truth. In an experiment you change variables one at a time, keeping everything else constant. I thought that constant was us and that one day I would find the magic solution, the key to us being together, really together. But I had to face the fact that maybe I wasn't a constant. Just a variable. Maybe I wasn't meant to be the one to really know you."

Grace was frozen to the steps. She wanted to stand up and go to him, tell him he was wrong. _You are, Luke, you are the one._ If there was any upside to her current psychosis, it was the realization that Luke _was_ the constant in her life. Without him, she was just wandering aimlessly.

Before she could say any of this, she watched as something came over him. The former tropical blue of his eyes went icier; his face hardened. _No! Luke! Wait, I'm almost there! _ She wanted to yell, get up in his face, and bring back the man she'd once loved. The man that she did love. But she didn't have the words to say anything.

Luke watched her silently. For a brief moment he looked disappointed, but the look was fleeting and Grace wasn't really sure she saw it at all.

"I should get back inside," he muttered. Grace just nodded in affirmation and watched him go.

When she heard the door shut behind him, she buried her head in her hands. She wouldn't let herself cry. A few tears escaped anyway, icy rivers on her cheeks. She wiped them harshly away.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her tattoo. Cradling her right wrist in her left hand, she ran her thumb over the black ink there. The tattoo had been a gift from her parents on her eighteenth birthday. In an uncharacteristically liberal and thoughtful frame of mind, her father had said he would pay for the rebellion only because that was the one thing she hadn't defied his rules about while underage.

Truthfully, she never really wanted one.

But the rabbi's one condition to the offer had inspired her. He firmly maintained that he would only pay for something discrete and tasteful insofar as those terms applied to permanent body art. When Grace suggested her name in Hebrew, her father actually looked proud. For the first time there had been a common ground between the radical and the conservative. She wanted to preserve that moment forever.

And so the three characters that represented her name were permanently etched in black ink on her wrist, each no larger than a dime. She traced the three distinct letters, moving from right to left: _Gimel Resh Samech_. A constant reminder to herself to never forget what it meant to be Grace Polk. _Gimel Resh Samech. _She sighed and wished she remembered.

When had her life gotten so out of her control? When did she stop moving forward and start regressing? It was time to let go of everything that held her back. The only way she was going to make anything of this mess was to put herself out there. Completely.

_I can't give everything to someone who isn't going to give everything back. _

His words echoed in her head. She knew what she had to do. She just wished it wasn't going to be so hard.

TBC

A.N.: Luke stole his line from e.e. cummings. About Grace's tattoo: I'm not Jewish; I don't know Hebrew. I did my best researching just what her tattoo would look like, but I found about six different versions of how the name Grace would look in Hebrew. I just tried to link to the websites in here but, alas, the website would not have it. If you want/need a link to the explanation I'm going from or the letters how I envisioned them, just drop me an email (address in my profile).

If I bungled it up, I apologize.

Hopefully the next part will be out in a timely manner. I start classes again this week so my time will be limited. But I feel as if I got the hard parts out of the way, so hopefully it shouldn't be too long before I update. We'll see. Thanks for reading!


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